


Scratch Lottery Ticket Life

by dedougal



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Patrick met Jonny, he was flat on his back. And then it turned out that Jonny was going to be heading up his particular section of the multi-national peace force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch Lottery Ticket Life

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this absolutely ages ago and there's a scene that I never managed to work in about how Kaner's eyes would look amazing wearing black greasepaint. But anyway. This is an intensely handwavy military AU.

The first time Patrick met Jonny, he was flat on his back. Not in a good flat on his back way. That would have required nakedness, a bed and some lube. No, he was flat on his back because he’d been punched in the jaw by some overly enthusiastic Swede. It could have been worse, he supposed. It could have been a Russian.

Jonny stood over him, shifted his duffel, and that was the first time Patrick met Jonny’s crazy laser eyes. “Please tell me you’re not Specialist Kane.” The Canadian accent was unmistakable even through Jonny’s strange flat tone.

“Hi.” Patrick couldn’t really think of anything else to say. Jonny was also tall, really tall. He had these legs that just seemed to go on and on.

“I was told you’d know where I’m assigned.” Jonny shifted the duffel again and let out a sigh. “I can ask around.”

“No man, I’m good. Stals didn’t really mean it.” Patrick levered himself up, glad for Jonny’s stabilizing hand. He brushed ineffectually at his camo before heading back towards the main part of the camp. “I forgot to ask your name.”

“Captain Toews.” It wasn’t entirely coolly dismissive but it wasn’t far off. Patrick’s halfway across the compound when the name caught up with him though.

“Wait a fucking minute. Your name – it’s some fucked up spelling of toes, isn’t it?” Patrick leveled an accusing glare at Jonny, hoping it wasn’t true. 

“It’s pronounced _Taves_.” Jonny shrugged then.

Patrick wanted to slam his smug face into the ground. “Motherfucker. You’re Captain Canada. Fuck. You’re bunking with me.”

Jonny just raised an eyebrow and waited. Finally he huffed out, “That would be why they sent me to you.” Patrick didn’t want to react but the strange intensity of Jonny’s eyes got to him soon enough.

“Sure, sure,” Patrick muttered, pushing aside the flap to their tent. “Welcome to home.” Jonny dropped his duffel on the bed Patrick pointed to and looked around with unimpressed eyes. Then he came back to Patrick. “C’mon. I’ll show you around.” 

 

The thing is – the thing that counts – is that Patrick knows his type and Jonny, Captain Serious Canada, Toews fits it to perfection. Tall – check. Broad shoulders – check. Fucking good at his job – check. Patrick and his squad hadn’t exactly been screwing around before Jonny came on the scene but there was just something about the way he tore their performance apart with this dry, sarcasm that had Patrick thinking of anything to keep his boner under control.

It didn’t mean he took Jonny’s critiques lying down. “What the fuck do you mean, you dick?”

“Is that insubordination, Specialist Kane?” Jonny’s voice was definitely raised to something approaching a shout as he stepped closer to Patrick, his eyes sharp.

“It’s an honest question,” Patrick said, pointing to the target. All the bullets were well within the circle and it wasn’t like they were actually out in the field or anything.

Jonny looked at it, curling his lip in derision. “You can do better.” Then he actually gripped Patrick’s shoulder and squeezed it, like something out of the manual of motivational leadership.

Patrick glared for a moment before he snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, I know, you fucking perfectionist.” He watched Sharpy pull out a credible score. “You and me, next round.”

“What do I get when I beat you?” Jonny was already checking his ammo level. 

Patrick got into position. “Loser – and that means you - buys all night.” He lined up his sights and squeezed the trigger, getting a perfect bullseye.

Jonny squeezed off a shot, matching Patrick. “I think you mean that I’m the one with the free beer.”

Patrick cackled as he shot again, bullet thudding through the previous hole. “You were saying?”

Jonny looked torn between scowling and beaming proudly at Patrick, which meant his weird emotionless Canadian face froze in the middle. Then he nodded. “Best of five?” Jonny’s shot grazed the side of his previous shot. Patrick ground his hips into the dirt, hoping the pain and pressure would prevent anything visible. It shouldn’t be hot, someone being that much of a dick, but Patrick’s fucked up sensibilities had him all twisted up about Jonny Toews.

“Bring it,” Patrick said, ignoring the hoots of derision from behind him. 

 

The other thing with being part of a multi-national peace keeping force was that they were here for more than just kicking around a camp and competing in ever more ridiculous skills contests disguised as training.

Their first swing up through the mountains was pretty peaceful so far, though. The dust was choking and the heat inside their wagon was unpleasant but the company was good. Patrick guessed that was what the training sessions had really been about. He knew these guys now, trusted them. He knew all about Sharpy’s wife and kids, Hoss’ weird sock based rituals. He’d even bestowed nicknames on some of them, more inventive than Jonny’s weird habit of either just shortening names or adding a y. 

Jonny kicked at his ankle again, holding on to the straps of the harness keeping him in his seat despite the jolting of the armored vehicle, finally pissing Patrick off enough to make him look at him. “I got your nickname.”

“Yeah. Just call me Super Kane.” Patrick hoped to fuck that no one was going to mention anything to do with Christmas related candies.

“Fuck that. You’re Kaner.” Jonny’s mouth curved up a little out of its usual straight line and his eyes were bright in the gloom of the wagon. Patrick opened his mouth to protest, out of habit more than anything, before snapping it shut. He kinda liked it. “It’s either that or Peekaboo.”

“What?” He retaliated with a kick to Jonny’s ankle. “Now I need a name for you.”

“Not Toes?” Jonny leaned close to whisper it into Patrick’s ear, one eye on Sharpy who was eyeing them with too much glee. Patrick could see the way Jonny’s skin was sheened with sweat. Instead of grossing him out, though, it just made him want to lick along Jonny’s jawline, taste him. He could see the stupid mark Jonny’s helmet always left on his head. He wanted to brush at it, ease it with his fingertips.

“Nah, that’s giving Sharpy too much credit.” Patrick leaned in, helplessly. “I like Captain Canada. Or Serious. Captain Serious.” Jonny’s eyes weren’t serious when he turned to look at Patrick though. They were soft and kind of fond. Patrick did that to people – either pissed them off entirely or finally grew on them. He supposed he should be grateful that Jonny had definitely taken to him. 

The Humvee continued to bounce along the dirt track, the engine noise drowning out pretty much everything else.

 

There was nothing more boring than watch duty. Actually, Patrick thought, there were a lot of things that were more boring than watch duty. Waiting to go on watch duty was one of them. But when it was the middle of the night and they were in friendly territory on a mission that was more training than anything, watch duty was pretty fucking boring.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jonny’s voice was still flat as anything but the slightly raised volume boded ill for Patrick.

“Dancing. It’s cold out here at night.” Patrick had more been shuffling from side to side to try and get some feeling back into his legs, but now he broke out the moves for real. It was totally worth it to see the constipated expression on Jonny’s face. He ignored the possibility of spy satellites overhead and shook his booty.

“I worry that you think those are dance moves.” Jonny leaned back against the boulder he was using to prop himself up and tried to look cool. “I bet you never get girls.”

“Fuck you. I am might and awesome and fucking kill at DDR. But I don’t get girls.” Patrick grinned. Fuck Jonny in his ear if he couldn’t deal with it. “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…” Patrick threw in a little twerking at the end just to enjoy the horror in Jonny’s eyes.

Jonny sucked in a breath, a little too rapid to be entirely casual, before relaxing back against the rock again. “Uh huh. Well, we are on watch in case you forgot and dancing about isn’t going to help with that.”

Patrick settled back on his folded up sleeping bag, tucking his hands up under his armpits for warmth. It was more psychological than actually successful at providing heat. Mountains were cold at night and bears shit in the woods and all that good stuff. Jonny would be hot, were they to ‘share body heat’ but it would probably take hypothermia for Jonny to unbend enough for that. Didn’t mean Patrick couldn’t indulge in a little fantasy about how warm Jonny would be, how smooth his skin would be stretched over muscles. That definitely provided a little heat as well.

“And the other thing.” Patrick had almost sunk into his usual watch awareness, a little checked out from the here and now and it startled him a little to hear Jonny speak. “Um. Me too.” Jonny had his eyes focused onto something out in the darkness but he sounded a little softer than Patrick had ever heard him.

“You wish you had moves like me.” Patrick hissed out a laugh at Jonny’s annoyed huff, disguising the sharpening of his awareness of Jonny, the way his brain traitorously suggested maybe... “But don’t think that means I’ll just jump into bed with you.”

“Not even in the name of international relations?” Jonny was doing the chin thing where he was laughing without actually laughing, thinking he was making a funny. Patrick kicked his ankle before settling back into his own watch. He didn’t think Jonny needed to know exactly how easy Patrick would be for him, all bullshit aside.

They fell into an easy silence, a quiet comfort in each other’s company, one that ran with the possibility of something more.

 

Even though Kaner knew he to watch out for it, he could still feel the easing of tension across his shoulders as they all piled back inside the wagon for the ride back to camp. End of maneuvers meant a couple of nights spent shooting the shit in their makeshift bar, avoiding getting into drinking competitions with fucking Russians and maybe trying to get the stick just that little bit further out of Jonny’s ass.

Or even take advantage of the contemplative looks Jonny kept shooting his way. Ever since their conversation – since their mutual confessions – their teasing and taunting had taken on a sharper edge, a frisson, even.

He knew he shouldn’t relax. They weren’t home yet, “safe” behind ditches, sandbags and barbed wire. But after not sleeping for shit, it was hard to not let the jolting of the wagon lull him into a light doze. He jerked his head up the first time he realized he was letting it drift towards his chest but he found it impossible the next time.

The explosion woke him. 

 

It was chaos – the wagon tilting wildly to one side, the metal bending in an unnatural way, forcing Patrick to tug at his straps to free himself. There was a warm, wet trickle down one side of his face and he didn’t want to stop and check if it was blood or sweat. Across from him, he could see Jonny dangling in his straps, knee twisted awkwardly under him. The engine noise cut off, sudden, leaving a weird emptiness in its place. It wasn’t like the inside of the wagon was quiet – there were groans and heavy breathing and a strange ringing noise, high pitched, just at the very edge of his hearing.

Patrick got himself free and tumbled to the floor of the wagon, unable to catch his balance for a moment. He met Sharpy’s eyes, stone cold serious for a change, and nodded towards the driver. Patrick reached for Jonny as Sharpy carefully made his way to the front, peering through the hatch. He slammed it shut again, shaking his head, as Patrick checked Jonny’s pulse. More reassuringly, Jonny’s hand came up to bat at him, uncoordinated as hell. 

Hoss’ radio crackled and he checked in, moving slowly but surely at his end of the wagon. The story started to come together. IED. They were sending a chopper. Sit tight. Secondary explosions.

Jonny’s eyes opened slowly, his usual clear eyes muddy and unfocused. Patrick patted his cheek before moving on to evaluate Bolly’s condition. He was too quiet but he nodded at Patrick, seemingly clear and competent. Patrick left him to it and moved on to check the others, although, by their bitching and moaning, no one was suffering anything too life-threatening.

He cycled back to Jonny, who was pale under his tan now. “How you doing?”

Jonny breathed shallowly for a moment. “Isn’t that a pick up line?” Patrick leveled a serious look at him and Jonny wilted. “Kinda sore. How’s your head?”

Patrick automatically raised a hand to poke at it and was rueful to discover it coming away red. “Doesn’t hurt. Which either means it’s a scrape or I’m fucked. And not in the good way.” Finding out he was injured made him want to collapse and he slowly lowered himself to sit against the angled bench. 

“Get out of this and we’ll see about remedying that.” Jonny’s fingers brushed across the bare skin at the back of his neck between his helmet and his flak vest. 

“Fuck yeah. Also, who speaks like that? For real? I was expecting an “eh” or a “for sure” in there or something for it to be properly asshole Canadian.” Patrick smiled when Jonny poked him in the side with his toe.

Sharpy caught his eyes and nodded. In the distance, Patrick could hear the noise of a helicopter and he could just close his eyes until they got there and it would be okay.

 

Patrick woke up in fits and starts, aware of noise and a sharp medicinal taste at the back of his throat. He thought there was a hand around his ankle at one point, warm and dry, a touch utterly unlike a doctor’s. He only put all the clues together when someone tried poking him.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. His left arm was hooked up to some kind of drip, heavier than his right. But his right didn’t seem to be co-operating either. Patrick blinked furiously until a nurse swam into sight. “I’m in the hospital.”

“Not yet, Specialist.” He was holding a clipboard and ticking off things. “But I’ll let Captain Toews know you’re awake.”

Patrick doubted that he really knew what she was talking about. Everything smelled like hospital. He was definitely on the good drugs, feeling a little bit like he was floating a few feet off the bed and lead heavy all at the same time. And it wasn’t like Jonny was interested in what happened to him.

Patrick reckoned he might have gone back to sleep again because when he opened his eyes, the light had changed and Jonny was there, leaning over him and holding a little too tight to Patrick’s right hand. At least he had feeling in it because he could feel how tightly Jonny was holding on to him. Maybe the nurse had been right about some of it.

“Hey,” Jonny said, voice weirdly gentle. He had a furrow between his eyebrows, one Patrick had only seen when things weren’t going Jonny’s way. He wanted to lift up a hand and press at it until it went away. “So you’re stupid.”

That was more like the Jonny he knew and lo… liked. Liked. Not the other word. Not yet. “Someone has to make you look good.”

Jonny ground out a laugh, raw and too close to a sob to be anything genuine. He closed his eyes for a moment while Patrick watched before opening them and looking at Patrick all too seriously. “They’re going to ship you out tomorrow. You’re going back home. Stateside anyway.”

“That’s home for me, dipshit. Buffalo. Upstate New York. Remember?” Patrick knew he was rambling but Jonny’s fingertips were stroking over the thin skin on the inside of his wrist and Patrick wanted to close his eyes and drop into the feeling.

“Almost Canada.” Jonny said, the furrow in his forehead disappearing in the face of a wild grin. “So you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m always fine,” Patrick snapped back, as sleazily as he could. He tried to pair it with a come hither grin but that was ruined by a yawn. 

“Sorry.” Jonny stroked over Patrick’s wrist again. “I should go. Let you sleep.”

Patrick hoped he could blame the drugs for what he said next. “You could stay, until I’m asleep. It’d be nice.”

Jonny could have said a whole lot of things, could have accused Patrick of being ridiculous and sentimental and creepy. Instead he settled back in his chair. “I stay with my parents when I’m home. It doesn’t make sense for me to have a house. They’ve got a cabin, though, out of the city, by a lake. I like to go there. The phone signal sucks but it’s quiet and I can fish.” Patrick let his eyes close and listened to Jonny tell him a story about a huge fish and falling in the water and it was as if he was there with him, cracking a cold beer open and sitting by a bonfire.

 

The actual hospital was boring because he was basically left on his own to get better. His left wrist was a little fucked up but they operated on that. Mostly he had to focus on answering every mental acuity test going to the best of his ability. But his folks drove down to see him and his sisters and one of the physical therapists was hot and half receptive to some flirting so not entirely awful.

It was when he wished Jonny was there so he could tell him some weird joke that Patrick realized he had a bigger problem.

 

The doorbell ringing rattled around his head a little but Patrick wondered if that was because it woke him from a nap. He stumbled towards the door, a little off balance, and it rang again, impatiently.

“What?” It took Patrick a moment to realize who was standing on the other side of the door, silhouetted against the sun. He blamed that on his nap as well.

“Are you… I asked your mom and she sent me over here. Is that okay?” Jonny’s voice was flat and he sounded like he didn’t actually care but Patrick knew better. He even felt better, falling back to let Jonny in.

“I rented this place because staying in my old bedroom felt weird and I didn’t want to stay on base and shit.” Patrick knew he was rambling as he took in Jonny’s appearance – tanned, still, and tall, obviously. He looked as if he’d spent some time out of uniform, an ease to his posture that hadn’t been there previously.

“How are you feeling?” Jonny slung his backpack to the floor and looked Patrick up and down. Patrick was aware of his old sweats and the stretched out t-shirt from Basic that he’d thrown on that morning. At least he’d showered, he supposed, going through the hassle of wrapping the cast on his wrist in saran wrap to at least attempt to keep it dry. 

“Better than the last time I saw you.” Patrick tried to joke but it fell flat as Jonny closed the gap between them, hand hovering in midair like he wanted to touch. Patrick had a sudden memory of Jonny’s hand wrapped around his and he reached out himself, moving closer. It was a bro hug to start with, arms loose, shoulders pressed against the other. Then Jonny seemed to collapse against him, arms tightening around Patrick’s shoulders, head coming down to rest against Patrick’s temple. Jonny heaved in a breath, seemingly breathing in Patrick, and Patrick felt the telltale prick of tears in his eyes. 

Patrick closed his eyes and tightened his own arms around Jonny’s waist. He hadn’t exactly been lacking hugs. His mom, his sisters, random relatives, his dad, his old friends all tended to show their vary levels of relief at his continued presence on the earth with hugs but this wasn’t like any of those. Jonny felt firm and muscled and, you know, _good_ but he also felt like he needed to be holding onto Patrick to reaffirm that _he_ was solid and home (or as close as could be) and here as much as he wanted to check that Patrick was here.

Jonny even let out a noise of protest when Patrick leaned back. “Hey,” Patrick reassured. “Not going anywhere.” 

Jonny was still very close. “I’m just…” He let out another frustrated noise then bent closer and kissed Patrick, soft and chaste. Patrick began to smile into the kiss and he felt Jonny do exactly the same. They pulled apart, still standing all wrapped up in each other.

“So, um, you staying a while?” Patrick loosened his grip enough to pull Jonny through the house towards the kitchen.

“A while. If you want. I got some leave.” Jonny went along willingly enough but halted in the hallway. “Where are we going?”

“Kitchen. Grab a drink? I’m being a good host.” Patrick tried to get them moving again but Jonny refused, hauling Patrick back to him. They ended up with Jonny pressed all along Patrick’s back, his arms around his waist and Jonny’s mouth pressed against the skin under Patrick’s ear. Patrick shivered all over as Jonny pressed a wet, insistent kiss there.

“I’m not thirsty.” Jonny run his nose up and down Patrick’s throat, pressing a kiss to the base that had a hint of teeth in it. “I thought you were taking us to your bedroom.”

“I could do that.”

 

The first time Patrick met Jonny in civilian life, it was Jonny who ended up on his back, stretched out on Patrick’s bed. Patrick knew exactly where the lube was this time and he had no regrets, especially about the way Jonny looked naked and the soft huff of noise he let out as Patrick finally sank down on his cock.

Then Jonny’s need to be in charge took over and he hauled Patrick in for a kiss.


End file.
